


13 Days of Halloween - Autumn Foliage

by BleedingInk



Series: Halloween Challenge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, High School AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their way to pick Sammy from his soccer practice, Jo and Dean spot a perfectly nice pile of leaves. Shenanigans ensue. (Written for the 13 Days of Halloween Multishiping Challenge).</p>
            </blockquote>





	13 Days of Halloween - Autumn Foliage

“This is incredibly stupid.”

“Stupid and immature.”

Jo was glad at least they agreed on that. However, none of them even attempted to move.

Dean was supposed to pick up his little brother, Sam, from soccer practice that afternoon because their dad was working late. He had stopped by Jo’s house and asked him if she wanted to go, and she accepted because she had nothing better to do. And also, maybe, because she liked hanging out with Dean more than with any other person, even if it was for something so simple, but there was no need for him to know that.

They had walked down the street, talking and joking like they always did. But when they passed Old Man Singer’s house, Dean had suddenly halted and grabbed Jo by the hand. She had flushed and was about to ask what was his problem to cover up that fact, but then he had pointed at Old Man Singer’s garden. Lying in the middle of the dry grass, there was a perfect pile of orange and yellow leaves. It must have been at least hip high for them, and it was just there, almost beckoning to them.

Jo knew they were both thinking the same thing. The urge to kick them was almost irresistible, but goddammit, that was a thing they did when they were kids. They were in high school now. Dean was a senior. They should act accordingly.

And yet they were standing on the pave walk, staring at the pile of leaves like it had hypnotized them.

“He’s probably not even home,” Dean said, pointing at the house with his chin.

“I heard he has an awful temper and shoot his shotgun in the backyard when he gets drunk,” Jo added. “It could even be dangerous.”

“Right,” Dean said, nodding. He had probably heard those rumors too. “And we’re gonna be late to pick up Sam.”

“Yeah. We should go.”

They continued to not move from their spot.

“I mean, how bad can it be?” Dean asked. “He’ll probably think that it was the wind or something.”

“The fence’s not even that high,” Jo pointed out. “We could totally jump it in a heartbeat if we need to.”

“It’s a simple pleasure of life,” Dean continued. “Your mom always says we shouldn’t deny ourselves those.”

“I think that by that, she means beer when she’s trying to sell it to the clients,” Jo admitted.

Dean nodded again. He was still looking at the pile of leaves, but Jo was looking at him. She could practically feel how much he wanted to kick it and how conflicted he was over it. If he got in trouble and his dad caught whiff of it, he would never hear the end of it. That didn’t meant that Jo’s mom would go easier on her if she was caught, but Dean’s dad was known to inflict disproportionally long bans on television, videogames or time outside the house if one of his kids misbehaved. Dean had once told her he was forbidden from driving a car until he went to college. Jo didn’t think he was joking.

Yet, he wanted it so bad, and his eyes would light up with that green glimmer they had and she would probably get to see that grin of his, the one that was pure joy and could make a cloudy day warmer all of the sudden.

Oh, God, she was weak.

“Let’s do it,” she proposed.

“Jo, we’re going to get killed,” Dean warned him. He didn’t clarify if by Old Man Singer or by their parents.

“Well, if you’re too much of a chickenshit…” Jo said, already stepping forwards to jump the fence.

“I’m not a chickenshit!” Dean complained.

“Really?” Jo said, already with one foot on Old Man Singer’s garden. She took a little impulse and landed on the other side. “’Cause you look like a chickenshit from all the way here.”

Dean’s face got read underneath his freckles. That would never cease to be the funniest thing Jo ever saw, and the snicker she let out was genuine and not just meant to piss him off further.

It had that effect anyway. Less than a second later, Dean was on the other side with her.

“This is so stupid,” he said, but Jo knew him well enough to know he was just pretending to be all mature and superior. In fact, he was excited like a kid, and if Jo was being honest with herself, so was she.

They approached the pile of leaves almost reverently, like they half expected it to disappear. It looked even bigger from that distance, and Jo couldn’t help but to wonder how long it had taken Old Man Singer to rake them. Well, it didn’t matter, because they were about to destroy his work.

“Lord Winchester, would you do me the honors?” Jo asked, using the fake English accent she used when they were roleplaying.

“Oh, no,” Dean said. He was already starting to smile the way Jo liked. “Ladies first.”

It was almost a dare. Jo took a step forwards and spun to face Dean. She made a little reverence to him… and them promptly let herself fall backwards directly on the pile.

She sank on the leaves almost as if they were a soft mattress, and when she tried to laugh, they got all over her face and her mouth. A second later the leaves sank even more because Dean had jumped right beside her, and now they were both heading straight for the ground in the middle of rustles and crackling of the leaves breaking underneath them. Jo heard Dean’s laughed, and almost instinctively reached out for him in the middle of all that chaos. When their hands met, Dean squeezed her, and together they struggled to sit up.

“They’re all over your hair!” Dean laughed when he looked at her. “It looks like something nested in it.”

“Shut up!” Jo said, grabbing a handful of leaves and throwing them at his face.

Dean was completely unfazed by that treacherous attack. He got closer to Jo, and slowly, he started picking the leaves one by one from her blonde hair. Jo froze a little, not because she wanted him to stop, but because it suddenly dawned on her just how close they were to each other. She could see every single freckle on Dean’s nose and every crinkle of concentration around his eyes. And the blood was rushing to her face again, and there was no way Dean wouldn’t notice.

“There,” he said, as he pulled the last leave out.

“Thanks.”

They should probably get up. They were late already, and poor Sammy must have been waiting for them to pick him up. Plus, Old Man Singer could come back at any moment now. This was not the time or the place for Dean to realize that she blushed every time he touched her or that her heat beat slightly faster and that she didn’t mind that he had a hand right between the intersection of her neck and her shoulder. Dean looked down, like he only know realized that, and Jo almost convinced herself the new shade of red that covered his cheeks was due to the laughter and the jumping in the leaves.

Almost.

Dean looked down (Jo had the very uncomfortable impression he was looking at her lips) and then up to meet her gaze. He opened his mouth…

The house’s door burst open.

“What are you idjits doing in my yard?!” a voice boomed from the porch.

“Oh, shit!”

Dean and Jo staggered to their feet and made a run for the fence hand in hand.

“Joanna Harvelle, I see you!” Old Man Singer screamed in their wake.

Jo let go off Dean’s hand when he was already jumping the fence.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at her with serious panic in his green eyes.

“There’s no need for us both to be grounded,” Jo replied.

Dean hesitated, and Jo said the only thing she knew would get him to go away:

“Go, Sam’s waiting!”

That (and perhaps the fact Jo could hear Old Man Singer’s steps behind her) motivated Dean to spin on his heels and run like hell. When he disappeared around the corner, Jo took a deep breath and turned around to face his stern look underneath his blue and grey cap.

“Your mother’s going to hear about this,” he warned her, handing her a rake and a pair of garbage bags.

Jo had to admit she had brought this upon herself.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour minutes later, she had practically finished gathering up the leaves while Old Man Singer sat in the porch and sipped from his glass of iced tea.

“What I don’t understand is what you were trying to do,” he commented. “Were you trying to impress that boy or something?”

“I don’t need to impress Dean,” Jo groaned as she pushed the leaves inside the bag.

But the truth was that was part of the reason she had done it, and there was no denying they had a strange moment. She didn’t resent Old Man Singer for making her clean up his yard again, but couldn’t he have waited another two seconds?

“Well, I bet you don’t think he’s worth it now,” Old Man Singer continued. “If he ran and let you to deal with the mess.”

“He had somewhere to be,” Jo groaned, tying up the bag. “There. Does Ellen really need to know about this?”

Old Man Singer raised an eyebrow, and Jo knew she was completely screwed. But before Old Man Singer could explicitly say so, someone cleared his throat at the other side of the fence.

“Hello, Mr. Singer,” Dean said, shoulders slumped and his gaze lowered. Sam was by his side, holding onto his soccer ball and watching his brother attentively.

“You’re John’s boys, aren’t you?” Old Man Singer asked, stepping down from his porch and walking up towards them so the two couldn’t help but to look at him.

“Yes,” Dean swallowed and looked up, but he was still doing the puppy eyes thing he did when he wanted to get out of trouble with the teachers for forgetting the homework. “I came to apologize. It was my idea to get inside your yard and kick your leaves. And it was wrong, and it was also wrong to leave Jo alone to deal with it.”

“He had to pick me up,” Sam contributed, showing his ball.

Old Man Singer looked at Dean, and then at Jo, who shrugged as if to say “I told you so.”

“Well, I think it’s very brave of you that you came to admit that,” he said.

And then he did something none of them expected: he grabbed the garbage bag where Jo had gathered the leaves, untied it and turned it over. The leaves spread across the yard in a second by a convenient breeze, and the ones that fell on piles were diligently kicked. Old Man Singer took the rake from Jo’s hands and extended it to Dean, who looked incredulous.

“It’s only fair,” Old Man Singer replied to his unsaid protest. “Say, kid, would you like some iced tea while you wait for your brother to clean this mess?”

“Yeah!” Sam exclaimed, enthusiastic, like there was nothing in the world he liked more than watch Dean suffering with a sweet drink in hand. “I mean, thank you, Mr. Singer.”

“You’re very welcome. And please, call me Bobby,” he said. “You too, Joanna. You’ve done your part.”

So that was a thing that happened: they ended drinking iced tea in the famously grumpy and antisocial neighbor’s porch, and Jo had a front row seat to watch Dean raking leaves. There were definitely worst ways this could have ended.

“I think I understand what you saw on him now,” Old Man Singer… Bobby, told Jo.

Sam snickered over his tea. “Jo and Dean, sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S…”

“We’re just friends,” Jo cringed, and drank her tea, hoping she wasn’t blushing yet again.

“Of course you are,” Bobby snickered. “I’m still telling your mom, by the way.”

Jo didn’t expect any different, and she knew there’ll be hell to pay for it. But when Dean made a funny face that was meant to imitate Bobby’s eternally frowned brow just to make her laugh, she find it really hard to care.


End file.
